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“You’re still writing?”
“Yes.”
“Visiting your family?”
“Yes.”
“Looking at other jobs?”
“Y—what?” I’d almost stopped listening to the questions, confident I’m living my life within the parameters she’d find acceptable. But that last bit threw me.
“Other jobs. I wouldn’t be offended if you want to work somewhere offering a higher salary and better benefits.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No, Cole. You’re one of my best employees. It’s only…” Cheryl hesitates. She never hesitates, and I reach up to scratch Sansa’s fluffy chin to ease my worries, waiting for Cheryl to figure out whatever she’s trying to say.
“We’re running out of money.”
My muscles clench, threatening to lock up. Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I convince myself that there’s no reason to panic. It’s a hard lie to make myself swallow.
“Is the shelter closing?”
Cheryl glares at the ceiling. “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep that from happening.”
“But it would be easier if you didn’t have to pay me.” I don’t frame it as a question because of course, the answer is yes.
“You’re not doing busy work Cole. You serve an important role here. But I just wanted to let you know that if something else comes up, you might want to consider taking it.”
Not a lot of job opportunities come up for ex-cons, I want to point out. But I keep my mouth shut. Cheryl doesn’t deserve cutting comments. She’s probably one of the main reasons I’m walking around a free man, no longer on parole, making a salary that I’m able to live off of.
For however long that lasts.
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you out, Cole. I care about you. And no one is better with these furballs.” She gestures to Sansa, who has decided to hook her claws into the already frayed fabric of my work shirt.
“I know.” And I do. Logically, I understand that if Cheryl had unlimited funds, she’d probably employ me until I reach ripe old retirement age.
But even knowing this, I can’t help having flashbacks to the other times in my life when I felt safe only moments before finding myself abandoned.
Chapter Seven
SUMMER
The fortress of books has been reconstructed.
He knows how to put them away. There’s no reason to go over. None at all.
Only, there’s a single volume, one that sits on the very corner of the table, that isn’t part of the structure. The book seems completely separate from Cole’s collection. Maybe it was left there by another patron.
I must shelve it.
“Are you okay to cover circulation?”
Karen raises her head from the magazine spread on the desk in front of her. “You’re going to go talk to the tattoo guy?”
“What? No. Of course not. I’m going to check the tables for stray items.”
